


The Freelancer’s Guide to Saving the Galaxy

by Spinifex



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Agnes Jurati (mentioned) - Freeform, Angry Elnor, Crew as Family, Crew as a Pain in the Ass, Elnor Be Eating, Four crewmen walk into a bar, Gen, Giant Green Space Hand, Humor, Pig Chips, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes, Ranger’s Ale, Rios POV, Saloon, Sarcasm, Sassy Seven, Spacer's Choice, Spacewestern, The piggier the better, hanging out with friends, idiots in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinifex/pseuds/Spinifex
Summary: Four idiots walk into a bar and irritate their captain.A.K.A. The one with the Giant Green Space Hand.
Relationships: Agnes Jurati/Cristóbal Rios, Cristóbal Rios & Seven of Nine, Elnor & Cristóbal Rios, Elnor & Raffi Musiker, Elnor & Seven of Nine, Raffi Musiker & Cristóbal Rios, Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine
Comments: 24
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**The Freelancer's Guide to Saving the Galaxy**

(One fucking Space Hand at a time)

***

Most planets out on the arse end of the alpha quadrant were balls of dust and crumbling rock. The suggestion of life on the toasted surface of this unfortunate planetesimal was merely a rumour from a long time ago and far away. The closest star’s inferno hadn’t dissipated much since the day cycle ended. It cast long purple shadows through the streets of the town. The horizon could be glimpsed between the tin-can buildings and the rock formations that were as tall as houses and round like the trunks of baobab trees. The sky still harboured a glow that promised a return to the radiation that baked the surface during the day. Nothing could be done about the rotten-egg atmosphere.

The long walk back to the landing pad and to La Sirena was just too far to contemplate right now.

The crew: sweaty, aching, tired and disgusting stumbled in through the entry of the only saloon in town. They let the single sliding door rattle shut behind them. There was a metal-hard ‘ _clonk’_ and a ‘ _wub-ub-ub-ub-ub...foom!’_ as the air was evacuated from the entry chamber and the airlock cycled back to green. Ceiling fans inside the saloon stirred a breeze that dried the sweat from skin and welcomed all comers to the bar. Total darkness was defeated by the glow of halogen bulbs in the wall brackets, and by dainty little fairy lights around the heavy shelves. The shelves held up ranks of rocket fuel behind the bar, where jewel-toned bottles winked beguilingly. A holoprojector threw up a flickering ad for Ranger’s Ale in the corner by the vending machine. Every fifteen minutes or so, it warbled out the jingle in a burst of tinny song. 

*

Captain Rios headed for the large empty table in the far corner and cleared away the empty tankards that were sitting there. Seven, Elnor, and Raffi staggered in behind. They pulled off helmets with exaggeration, releasing the clasps on their body armour with curses of relief. Seven removed the spent power pack from the stock of her rifle and slapped it upon the table. It left a dandruff-smudge of soot on the palm of her hand, which she brushed off against her trousers. She also had quite a lot of belts on. Rios was still trying to understand why exactly Seven did that.

Perhaps he’d never know.

Then she reached up behind her head and shook out the ponytail that was restraining her hair. The blonde waves straggled limp around her shoulders. Beside her, Raffi watched appreciatively. The X.O. was diligently biting her bottom lip. Nothing new there. Rios hid a snigger. It took more than a layer of sweat and alien slime to deviate Raffi from the Ranger’s face. Seven lifted an enquiring eyebrow before nodding her order to her friend. Raffi smirked and fished out their shared credit chip from Seven’s back trouser pocket and headed over to the bar.

Elnor shucked the remainder of his armour plating. He dumped it in the pile beside the table where their crewmates had already left their gear. He muttered in disgust as he wiped the still-drying slick off the blade of his weapon. The flat of his fingers made a sharp and singing noise across the steel. Then he looked around for a place to clean his hands that was not part of his outfit. After a few seconds, he gave up and wiped his fingers on his tunic anyway. They left shiny streaks of entrail on the weave of the dark blue fabric. The Romulan warrior’s elfin-sharp features were a picture.

The Captain ran his fingers through his beard and hair. He immediately regretted it. There was nothing quite like leftover critter goo and a day of sweat and helmet grease to remind a man of his need for ablutions. Agnes might not agree to share her bed with him for at least a week. Probably more. Though honestly, with the epic pile of space manure that he and his crewmates had just blasted through, Rios was certain that he wouldn’t be, well, _up_ for anything in the near future.

He smiled at the thought of Agnes, missing her presence while she was stuck up on the ship with the synthetics. The corrosive atmosphere did a number on their systems. Agnes was the closest thing to a medical expert on Synthetic life forms that they had on board. It would be a gift to have her close again once this job was _done_.

*

A snippet of the jingle for Ranger’s Ale was stuck inside his head. Accursed ear-worm.

 _‘Woah-woah-woah!_ ’

It was perky with manic earnestness. He looked around the inside of the saloon instead. 

It was one of those tin-can space-pod type of buildings. They were flat-packed IKEA Holdings housing modules, cookie-cut and shipped to colonists everywhere. The paint was peeling yellow on the inside, tarnished to sooty blackness on the outside. The acid grit would eat through your fingers if you touched it without an environmental suit. The embossed label over the portholes on this one called it ‘ _Fölautjelta_ ’. Rios didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified. 

The one thing he could be sure of was the relief of being indoors. The only reason that anyone even lived on this rock was the rich seam of dilithium that laced its surface. This was a mining town on a dead planet, made living by the need to travel faster than the speed of light. The faint smell of sulphur in the atmosphere was second only to the ripe stank of his crewmates and the patrons of the saloon surrounding them.

The ear-worm warbled through his skull.

_‘Woe-woe-woe!’._

*

Raffi returned with an armful of bottles and pushed them carefully onto their table. She set them on the beer-stained surface one by one. The glass clinked and thudded as she loosened her grip. All of them were chilled and carbonated. Most of them were alcoholic. He and Seven cracked open the potent ones. 

Raffi also slid a bowl of bubble-skinned pork rinds on the table. Rios reached for them. It was unlikely that the rinds had ever even seen a pig, very few living things actually had. Pigs were just a footnote in Earth’s zoo network, close to extinction along with anything else that had ever been worth eating. But whatever the hell they were made of, they were salty, crisp, and delicious.

Elnor swiped one of the two bottles that were mostly sugar-flavoured bubble-water. Elnor had an incredibly sweet tooth that was probably eating away at his molars. Crís raised his eyebrow at the X.O.: Raffi was clearly a facilitator on that count, but she didn’t look the least bit sorry. She just smiled indulgently at Elnor as he tackled the ring-pull on his bottle with forefinger and thumb. 

The kid was lucky that he lived on a spaceship with an EMH and a replicator that could create fillings that were just as reliable as actual teeth. Rios probed his tongue along the strangely-smooth surface of one of his own remodelled molars, wondering at the sensation from the deadened nerve. Just because they had access to miraculous medical technology, didn’t mean that they should accept damage casually. The Captain rarely took his own advice, but he’d learned about the fragility of humanoid bodies the hard way. Brains across the bulkheads and all that.

Or, perhaps the gently corrosive atmosphere in conjunction with his pig-chips and the beer made Rios wax lyrical over the importance of a healthy smile. 

*

Raffi was in one of her off-again phases with full-strength alcohol. She’d purchased something that had the word ‘light’ on the label and several playful cartoons of pineapples. Alcohol-light it may be, but the cartoons promised that the taste would be an affront to the senses. Seven eyed the ship’s X.O. and then the cartoon pineapples like Raffi was thinking of strangling children. It was a slightly different expression to the Ranger’s usual killer stare. 

Raffi scoffed and rolled her eyes. She was completely unafraid of Seven of Nine. Rios watched his X.O. jab an elbow into Seven’s side, then pick up one of the crispy pig-chips and push it against the Ranger’s lips with nimble fingers. A bold manoeuvre. Seven accepted the offered morsel with a snap of her teeth and a wolfish grin.

“Hush you,” said Raffi. “It’s refreshing. After this afternoon, I definitely earned this.”

Then she turned her scorn on Rios, who’d made a noise between a snort and chortle. A snortle then. 

“You too, Crís,” she added.

Rios shrugged. Raffi’s scorn was debatable. He matched Seven’s expression and eyed the pineapples with concern. 

“Whatever you say, Raf. But the label on that pilsner looks like it was designed by a lunatic on an acid trip. How do you even get a pineapple to look that angry?”

Raffi opened her mouth to reply just as Elnor chugged his carbonated beverage much faster than common sense prescribed. The X.O.'s response was interrupted by the wide-eyed burp that Elnor loosed into the crook of his arm. 

Seven’s lips twitched in a way that was as close as Crís has ever seen her get to a snort of laughter. He knew for a fact that Raffi could crack a smile out of the Fenris Ranger any time. So perhaps that was a minor win for Elnor. Whatever it was, it was nice to see Raffi getting along with somebody. Raffi sure knew how to annoy the living shit out of him, but Rios only felt a deep-seated relief to finally see his damaged friend at ease. 

Seven pointed the neck of her bottle towards the Romulan as she spoke. 

“Slow down Elnor. You don’t want your gravestone to read ‘defeated the giant green Space Hand, then choked to death on his own beverage.’”

Elnor thumped his enamel-melter on the table. There was, impressively, only one quarter of the entire bottle left. Rios shared a look with Raffi that said the Romulan would be paying for the next round. Even with the spending power of Raffi and Seven’s combined credit chip, and Rios’s own Fedcard, they’d be struggling to keep up with the young man who could neck bottles like a fishy-humanoid.

Elnor looked dissatisfied.

“I do not want to battle a giant green Space Hand ever again,” Elnor said.

He looked down and turned the mostly-empty bottle in his hands. His short, square fingers picked at the edges of the label, twitching in staccato and attuned to his frown.

“And that is also the last time I ever believe it when you claim that something is not real. Did you _see_ what that creature did to my sword?” He turned his eyes to Rios imploringly, “Honesty is the backbone of truth!”

Said sword lay on the table, its once sleek blade now a corroded and slime-encrusted mess. It had a sticky, tetanussy quality to it. Rios wondered if it should be considered a biohazard.

That Space Hand really was the _worst_.

Seven winced, agreed with Elnor, and shifted sideways in her chair. The movement settled her unsubtly closer to Raffi. The glance that Raffi shared with her was fond, as his X.O.’s free hand stole beneath the table. Rios guessed that she was resting it on the top of Seven’s leg. He wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough to consider the alternative. No, that was too much information. That wasn’t even considering the noise that he and Agnes had to put up with through the bulkheads on most nights. To be fair, he and Agnes weren’t exactly saintly on that count either, come to think of it. These were the things that you let pass quietly, living in close-quarters with your shipmates and without a tangible means of escape.

Short of air locking everyone.

Rios wasn’t feeling quite _that_ desperate. 

*

The Ranger flicked the burnt-out battery cartridge from her rifle across to Rios while she nodded ruefully at Elnor. 

“I saw. It was real, alright. That asshole took out two full magazines and fried my battery pack.” 

Rios felt the toe of Seven’s boot make contact with his shin. He was lucky that she was tired, or else he’d be describing the contact with his leg as ‘brutal’. The best that the Ranger could manage, thankfully, was an irritated scrape. 

“You owe me a phaser rifle and _two_ ships,” she said. 

The Captain spluttered on his beer.

“What? You didn’t even own that rifle! That came with the ship. _My_ ship, if I recall. And the man who owes you a shitty little cruiser is _Picard._ And what’s this second ship you’re talking about?”

“Ranger’s fees,” Seven deadpanned.

“The _perfectly serviceable cruiser_ was sold to me by a good friend. You made me wreck it when I had to come and rescue you. I hold both you and Picard responsible,” Seven said. 

She took another drink to punctuate her sentence. Rios imagined that her metal grip was like a vice.

“You also made me break my Cube.”

Rios couldn’t tell if she was joking. With Seven’s bone-dry humour, it was always hard to know. He stared at the Ranger incredulously, wondering why suddenly everything that annoyed her was apparently his fault. He tried to appeal to Raffi.

“But-”

Traitorously, his X.O. shrugged. Clearly, shacking up with Seven meant that she wouldn’t be his creature anymore. Rios sighed. Nobody on his damn crew listened to him these days- not that they ever _had_ actually listened to him, really. Maybe he should ditch them all and buy himself another ship. He’d probably consider inviting Agnes along. Her penchant for homicide was concerning, but she was an excellent replicator chef, and quite athletic in bed. She could also do this thing with her elbow that Crís was probably not old enough to know about. That trick was definitely a story for another time.

Her pancakes were to die for. 

“I was very heroically coming to your rescue when my Cube went down,” Seven said. “The overpowered orchids were a variable that I had not planned for. The Borg Cube was legitimate salvage.”

Elnor nodded eagerly, “Yes. Those flowers were just as unexpected as the Space Hand. I was certainly not expecting the part where it gave us all the middle finger.”

After Elnor, Seven nodded solemnly. More booze went down her throat.

“Ranger’s fees,” she said.

*

Rios watched Elnor crumple up the label from his bottle. The Romulan poked at the sad paper ball.

“I took great satisfaction in lopping its finger off,” Elnor said, “that bastard.”

Raffi snorted and reached for a handful of pig-chips. She stuffed the whole lot into her mouth, not even one-by-one. She chewed them thoughtfully.

“How much are they paying us for this one, Crís?” she demanded. The pig-chips muffled her question only slightly, with her mouth full. Seven looked impressed. Crís doubted that he’d ever truly _get_ the Ranger, but it was fine because Raffi liked her.

“You did make them say that they were paying us, right?” Raffi said. “ _Before_ we took the job?”

Rios hesitated for a beat longer than was wise. Raffi’s expression darkened enough to make the raging pineapples on her lager look meek and mild. The next pig-chip she stuffed into her mouth was eaten menacingly. Rios wondered when he’d let terrifying, headstrong women rule his life.

“You forgot to ask for payment, didn’t you?” Raffi said.

The Captain grimaced and leant back in his chair.

“Well the Mayor, she uh- said that she wouldn’t make payment until we cleared out another nest of Space Hands. Even though the contract only specified the green one.”

Any further explanation was halted at the sound of Seven standing up from her chair and pulling all her armour on. She slapped another battery pack into her rifle with her gauntleted fist.

“All right. I’ve had enough of this bullshit,” Seven said. She picked up her helmet and tucked it safely beneath her arm.

“Captain, did you say the Mayor’s house was just down the road?”

“Yeah, but what are you-”

Seven ignored him and nodded once at Raffi, “Hold my beer.”

They watched her head towards the door.

*

Rios shook his head at the Ranger’s retreating form.

“Your girlfriend is a menace,” he said. “She’s not doing what I think she’s doing, is she?”

He had a little bit of hope, but honestly, he knew the answer already. Raffi lifted one of her shoulders in a shrug and smiled at him. Cheerfully unhelpful as always, and smug as well.

“Tough to say, really,” Raffi said.

She waved her empty bottle at the bartender for another round of beer.

“I wouldn’t worry, babe. She really knows her way around a gun.”

Crís added his drink to her order when the bartender sent a service drone around. After a second, he also pressed the button for another bowl of chips with extra crackle. The piggier the better. Raffi seemed content not to hound him about vegetables today.

“That’s not at all reassuring, Raf.”

His X.O. smirked and shook her head. “Maybe not. She is pretty hot though.” She smiled fondly towards the airlock, where Seven was just leaving. She wasn’t wrong there, Rios conceded, but there was no way he’d admit it. He was personally invested in protecting his balls.

Elnor interrupted, leaning his forearms on the table. His elfin gaze was fierce. “I think in this case, I agree that we are owed payment. I believe that Seven of Nine will ensure that justice is done.”

He reached out for the second fizzy drink. His features were bright and boyish again, “Is this one mine?”

*

They were just finishing up the second bowl of pig-chips when Seven’s voice crackled over their comms. She sounded breathless, like she was running. Rios tried not to think about what that meant. It probably wasn’t something good.

“Alright you guys, pack up and suit up. We’ve got to get going.”

Rios groaned as the three of them got moving, hastily pulling their armour on. He could swear that Raffi was snickering behind her hand as she stuffed a full bottle of beer for Seven into one of her pockets.

“Seven of Nine, what did you do?” Rios said.

The Ranger was breathing harder. He could hear the gravel underneath her boots.

“I procured our payment, as per our contract,” Seven said, “but I may have caused a diplomatic incident.” Crís could almost hear her wince, “Nothing big.”

The Captain switched to his helmet comms as the airlock opened and the crew stepped out into the sulphurous morning. This planetesimal was certainly rapid on the turn.

He wondered sincerely, why this was his life now.

“Jesus, fuck, Seven! What did you-wait. Is that gunfire?” he asked incredulously.

Raffi snorted and patted his shoulder, shoving Crís into motion with Elnor behind her.

“Aw guys, they’re playing our song,” she laughed.

Seven of Nine rounded the corner, a pack of pursuing guards in tow.

“Shut the fuck up, Crís. We’ll talk about this later!” Seven said, bolting past them as they turned and fled. Plasma bullets crackled at their heels.

Rios rolled his eyes, dodging left as a projectile missed his thigh.

“I’ll call for a beam out,” he panted. “Rios to _La Sirena-”_

You really couldn’t make this shit up.

**[END]**   
  


A little bonus. 

The FOLAUTJELTA by IKEA HOLDINGS LTD.


	2. Podfic version - Freelancer's Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the podfic version of The Freelancer's Guide to Saving the Galaxy.  
> Hosted for download via Google Drive.  
> 22 minutes.

[ ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1n3Y6_10R9xM7NrX80RXebnd6v3kfqkqb/view?usp=sharing)

Click the image to access the audio via Google Drive, or 

[[CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE AUDIO]](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1n3Y6_10R9xM7NrX80RXebnd6v3kfqkqb/view?usp=sharing)

Music credits: Lisa Richards, The Beating of the Sun.


End file.
